She leaned forward, brushing her palm across his scruff and running her thumb lightly over his cheekbone. "I will do anything to help you."
Unconsciously, he leaned into her hand, breathing a tiny sigh at the loving contact with her silky skin. His eyes met hers as he heard the sincerity in her voice, the spark between them somehow flaring even brighter.
"Thank you," he whispered back fervently. She said nothing, but her doe eyes spoke volumes. Unable to respond to the sudden rush of empathy on her face, Michael stared down at the gold comforter and began to finger several stray threads. After several moments, he cleared his throat awkwardly and clambered off the bed.
"Percy's orders are that we leave tomorrow at 4. You should get some sleep; it's going to be a long flight. I'll take the couch tonight."
He walked out of the bedroom and shut the door softly behind him. Nikita fell back against the numerous pillows, letting out a gusty sigh. She was unsure of how to cope with Michael's sudden revelation.
Michael with a family? The thought was nearly impossible. Yet, as she continued to think, the concept became decidedly less alien. She could clearly picture a youthful Michael; face unlined, scruff and five o'clock shadow gone. Kissing a young blonde woman while his five year old daughter wrinkled her adorable button nose in fake disgust. Taking strolls in front of their white-picket fence house, while their yapping German Shepherd jogged along happily beside them. Clumsily trying to braid his daughter's unruly caramel hair while his wife was doubled over in hysterical laughter. Though Nikita had never been able to experience any of those things, her heart ached for Michael and the phantom family that she had created in her mind.
Before she could pull herself back to reality, her mind wandered even further, slotting herself into Elizabeth's place. Waking up every morning with Michael by her side. Kissing him and her own daughter good morning. Munching on toast that popped out of their new, state-of-the-art stainless steel toaster and drinking coffee that was sprinkled with cinnamon. Her feet resting in his lap while he perused the morning paper.
Abruptly, she was slapped back into reality by the sound of Michael barging through the door, balancing several threadbare blankets in his arms that obscured his face from view. Closing the door with his foot, he tottered over to the couch in front of the fireplace. He tossed the blankets onto the sofa and began arranging them carefully into a suitable makeshift bed.
"Something wrong?" he asked her casually, not glancing up from his own handiwork.
"Nothing," she replied swiftly, rolling off the bed and shoving her fairy tale out of her mind. Turning away, she faced the oak dresser and began removing the diamonds that were clustered on her ears and fingers. She watched her reflection in the bronze mirror sitting on top of the dresser, smugly noting that her lipstick was still perfect even after her passionate, though brief encounter with Michael. He glanced up at her, slightly mesmerized by the grace of her slender hands as she let the jewelry clink onto the polished wood. His throat became abnormally tight, breath sticking uncomfortably when Nikita reached up and slid the zipper of her dress down, exposing a long column of toned flesh. Suddenly, Michael wished his hand was pulling that zipper down, brushing the lacy cap sleeves off her shoulders, dusting fairy kisses up her neck…
The dress crumpled to the ground and she tossed it over a nearby armchair. Looking back up at the mirror, she saw Michael's intense gaze drilling into her back. She felt the blush creep up her throat and stain her cheeks but somehow, she couldn't look away.
"Something wrong?" she teased lightly.
"Something wrong?"
Nikita smiled at him roguishly, her lips curling up into a sly smile. Michael stood there, mouth slightly hanging open, hand still lightly clutching the doorknob.
Giggling lightly to herself, she slid another crystal hairpin into place. She honestly couldn't blame him—every red-blooded male she had ever encountered stared at her that way. But when it came to Michael, somehow it didn't disgust her as much—actually it didn't faze her at all. She relished the way he looked at her, the way his green eyes hardened into emeralds whenever she walked into the room.
Staring at her reflection in the hotel bathroom's enormous mirror, she swiveled back and forth, admiring the way the rich scarlet fabric flowed around her body. The thigh slit was a bit much, as was the single strap serving as the entire back of her dress. She fervently hoped that tonight's forecast wouldn't predict any wind. If a light gust happened by, the many Congressmen of New York and their wives would certainly be in for a show. A show that would no doubt please the men to no end and cause the women to gasp in outright jealousy.
After several awkward seconds, Michael finally spoke. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, but his husky voice sounded a tad bit strained. "The party's in thirty minutes, you wouldn't want to keep Percy waiting in the ballroom."
She rolled her eyes, before pinning up the last curl dangling next to her ear. "Anything to keep the old man happy."
"Nikita, this gala is only twelve floors down, exactly one minute and forty seconds away from your room. How can you possibly be late?"
"It's Amanda's fault. Cause she gave me a ribbon to wear instead of an actual dress." She fidgeted with the scarlet cloth's plunging neckline and tried to tug the skirt lower to cover her exposed leg. "Do all Division agents really dress like hookers waiting for their next customer?"
He smiled sadly at her concerned expression and wisely chose to not answer her question.
She applied the finishing touches to her stellar makeup and slid on a pair of enormously high silver stilettos. Starting for the door, Nikita felt his hand curl around her arm, effectively stopping her in her tracks. She turned towards him, an exasperated expression plastered on her face.
"Michael, don't worry, I'll be fine. I've been an agent for three months already. You don't have to give me the 'be careful' lecture. I'm only plying the escort trade tonight. Nothing life threatening."
He shook his head, chuckling softly. "I know, but it's your first time being Percy's…partner for the evening. You should be careful; there are plenty of powerful, dangerous people gathered in that room tonight. But more importantly, you forgot something."
She gave him a questioning glance, noting that his hand had disappeared behind his back. Stalking closer to him, she smiled sensuously. "Did I?"
His hand appeared as she crept towards him, holding a thick cardboard box. Pushing it into Nikita's hands, he smirked at her skeptical expression. "It's not a bomb. Open it."
Pulling off the lid, her wondering eyes were greeted by a glimmering Zoraki 914 pistol sitting proudly in a thigh holster. She slid the gun out of its casing, running her fingers lovingly over its satin chrome finish.
"It's perfect," she said, eyes alight with pure enchantment, "I didn't know thigh holsters were part of female agent protocol."
"Well, it is now."
Grinning at him, she seated herself fluidly and crossed her legs. Dangling the thigh holster between her thumb and index finger, she gestured towards her exposed thigh. "Would you mind?"
She watched Michael's eyes and lips tighten briefly before he acquiesced to her request and stooped down. Taking the holster from her hands, he buckled the straps loosely around her ankle and began to slowly tug the silky black leather north. He took his time, knowing very well that Nikita would not object. After passing her knee, he tightened the straps carefully and allowed his hands to—regretfully—fall away.
Straightening up, he extended a hand to her. "You should hurry and get downstairs, you're late."
She smirked at him. "And whose fault is that?"
He took her arm and tugged her out of the room towards the three sets of elevators waiting for her. He pressed the gold button for the lobby, before turning and giving his agent another once-over.
Slyly noting his examination, she bumped him lightly on the shoulder with her own.
"Something still wrong?"
He took a final look at her as the elevator dinged happily. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkled at him and he felt his insides turn to liquid. He knew it, knew that he was already in way over his head. The stupid, giddy grin stretched on his face was no small indication for it was common knowledge that Michael never smiled.
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
He shook himself quickly, and then flopped onto the couch, burying himself under his blankets.
Taking one last lingering look at Michael's weary expression, Nikita walked into the bathroom and shut it softly behind her. The boiling water from the power shower blasted and scalded her skin, but it couldn't stop her mind from drifting away again. She fantasized as much as she could until the water's lash became outright painful. Emerging in an oversized gray recruit t-shirt, she meandered over to the couch and knelt down on the freezing ground next to Michael's head. She tenderly ran her fingers over the crease between his eyebrows, gently smoothing it out. Dropping a light kiss against his cheek, she stood up and headed towards her own bed. She dove under the gold comforter and shivered at the sudden contact with the icy sheets. Wrapping an arm around a pillow, she hugged it to her chest before slowly drifting off into a fitful sleep.
Suddenly, a piercing white light illuminated their bedroom, except for the fact that she wasn't there anymore. Blinking her bleary eyes, Nikita eyed the oddly familiar vast concrete room. Several buzzing lights hung over her, illuminating her tiny frame in the midst of the vast darkness. She tried to raise an arm to rub the sleep out of her eyes, but found that she was strapped tightly to a chair, her arms and legs bound firmly to its steel arms and legs by plastic cuffs. With frantic eyes, she noted that two pulsing electrodes were attached to her temples, collarbones, and wrists. The wires trailed to a machine that looked all too familiar. Electric shock. And lying next to it, were several very familiar torture instruments. It was like being in Jigsaw's workshop. Letting out an involuntary whimper, she wriggled uselessly against her bonds, knowing the telltale signs well enough.
She was in Amanda's personal dungeon, preparing to be questioned, tortured, and quite possibly, canceled. Sure enough, a door swung open and the she-devil herself marched in. Sauntering slowly up to the metal chair, she leaned down languidly, slowly taking in Nikita's tensed stance.
"Oh, Nikita. I knew that you'd take the bait." She leaned in, patting Nikita's cheek tenderly. Confused, Nikita thrashed again, snarling a steady and very creative stream of swear words. Amanda smiled cruelly before continuing in her sickly sweet voice. "But it's not really your fault. Michael is just the most exceptional liar."
Nikita froze at Amanda's last word, her mind coming to a sudden blinding, crashing halt.
"What?" she gasped, her shield against Division's head interrogator faltering.
Amanda's blood red lips curled up into a devious grin and she gestured towards the door. It swung open once more, except this time, in walked Michael, dressed in his customary suit and stoic as par Division standard. His polished shoes echoed in the enormous room, coming to a steady halt right in front of Nikita. She stared at him wildly, her eyes screaming the questions she so desperately wanted to ask. Her lips trembled as she scanned his strangely deadened eyes, steely and cold, like a shark. She didn't know how or why, but Michael was gone. The Michael that she knew so well, the sparkle in his eyes that twinkled comfortingly at her whenever she was being scolded by Percy, the trademark smirk that appeared whenever they sparred, the calloused hands that guided her through every move, the perfect lips that she had only kissed once, everything that was distinctly Michael, was somehow missing. Her Michael had disappeared.
Hell, who was she kidding? He had never belonged to her. He belonged to that evil, sadistic son of a bitch who was probably watching this sick encounter in his office, cackling delightfully.
"Why?" she whispered softly, barely able to control the tension radiating throughout her body, causing her curled fists to tremble violently. Michael's face barely registered the fact that she had spoken. His indifferent demeanor infuriated her and she lost her remaining shred of self-control.
"Why?" she screamed, louder and shriller, allowing the anger from every pore in her body to flow out through her voice. She had trusted him, teased him, let him in on her secrets, loved him. She could feel the cords and veins in her throat straining against her heated skin as hot, angry tears of betrayal rolled down her cheeks. Michael turned away from Nikita's burning glare and glanced at Amanda, as though asking for advice.
She cut smoothly in, smiling wolfishly. "Percy wanted to know where your true loyalties lay. Michael just happened to be the perfect bait. 'I would do anything to help you' ", she mocked, drawing fake quotation marks in the air, "Such strong words. Who would have known that you were just so in love with him…"
A strangled snarl tore through her throat and Nikita silently cursed her stupid, volatile emotions. After several tense minutes only permeated by the sound of Amanda adjusting several wires, Michael finally opened his mouth and Nikita prayed that the next few words would somehow relieve the gaping, gnawing hole in her stomach.
"I was only following orders."
It didn't. She flinched at his voice, cold and clipped, unmoved at his supposed favorite student's desperate plight. Following orders. The one thing that she rarely did and the only thing that he always clung to.
Closing her eyes, she breathed in slowly, allowing the numbing air to seep into her lungs. Suddenly cold, she gradually relaxed against the steel chair, resigned to her condemned fate. If she didn't have Michael in her life, if their entire relationship was just based on a lie, well then, there really was nothing else for her to live for. The fighting spirit within her slowly melted away, leaving behind only a beaten body and crushed heart.
Circling the table, Amanda plucked a tiny remote from it and pressed it into Michael's hand. She nodded encouragingly, still grinning the entire time. "Why don't we get started? Go on."
Michael faced Nikita, not a single emotion displayed on his face. He slowly raised his eyes to hers for the first time since he had entered. She thought she saw a flicker of remorse dart across his face, before it disappeared as quickly as it came. His thumb pressed the button and her screams ripped through the large chamber.
In the middle of the night, a frozen Michael awoke to the sound of a tiny kitten-like whimper. Sitting up and kneading his eyes, he saw the dim outline of Nikita curled up under the thick covers in a little ball. He was about to lie back down before she let out a louder cry and rolled over, fists grabbing and lashing out at nothing. She continued to thrash and her cries became increasingly shrill and panicked. Crawling out from underneath the teetering pile of blankets, Michael picked his way across the frigid carpet until he was by her side. He reached out and latched onto her flailing wrists, pulling her onto his lap. She wriggled desperately against his hold, still frantic, while taking frenzied gasps of air. Gently pulling her against his chest, he rocked her body back and forth, while murmuring soothing nothings into her ear. Her whimpers gradually quieted and she turned her head toward his neck, her lips resting softly against the comforting beat of his pulse. Both of her arms slid involuntarily up his chest and tightened around his neck. Easing her back onto the mattress, he smiled gently at the adorable little furrow between her eyebrows, before undoing her clasped arms and brushing a wayward lock of satin hair behind her ear. He shifted his weight to stand up, but before his feet could find purchase on the freezing ground, an iron grip suddenly latched onto his arm.
"Stay."
The word was slightly slurred and clouded by sleep, but clear enough to him. Nikita blinked groggily several times before renewing her attack on his already severely weakened self control. Maybe it was his revelation to Nikita that made him feel compelled to draw himself even closer to her; for he felt that the need to bury his sorrows away would be much easier while he held her in his arms. She and her warmth were calling out to him and he felt his resolve begin to crumble even further. Rolling herself back onto his lap, Nikita laid a hand tenderly on his chest.
"Michael, please stay with me." She reached up, placing one hand onto his cheek, and gently slid it down to the scruff on his chin, pinching it lightly. He stared down at her face, slightly illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon. Her eyes were still glimmering with fresh tears and her lips were quivering slightly. Those enormous, dark eyes of hers were liquid chocolate depths and he felt himself being sucked in. Pulling back the covers, he slid into the bed, running his freezing toes lightly over Nikita's toasty ones. As soon as he was comfortably situated, she curled her body into his, her head resting on his outstretched bicep and her arms finding their way around his chest. He pressed his nose into her hair, breathing in the soothing scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. An arm, of its own accord, snaked around her waist, molding her body to his side. The warmth of her body heat washed over him and he closed his eyes with a contented sigh.
They drifted off to sleep together, Nikita's nightmare swiftly passing, and Michael's body heat steadily returning.